


The Prodigal

by Lady_Roisin



Series: The Prodigal Series [1]
Category: The Silmarillion - Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Roisin/pseuds/Lady_Roisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not every important figure makes it into the historical records and not all the great stories are told from those who lead lives of virtue or did heroic deeds. This is the story of Isilmírë and how she played into the greater history of the late econd and early third age.</p><p>This is book one of The Prodigal Series and it concerns Isilmírë's conception, birth, and early life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way We Come to Be

**Author's Note:**

> I will warn up front that this story takes a very heretical stance on canon characters and events. I created Isilmírë/Nilûphel and the Quintilórë to try and tell a familiar story through a new way.
> 
> The Quintilórë are my version of the highly skilled courteseans that would have likely existed in Númenor. I liken them to the Hetaira of Ancient Greece, or even the Geisha, or more namely the Oiran, of Japan. They are highly skilled and educated women who serve as entertainment for the noble and royal class. They may also serve as compainions to wealthy men who could afford their company. I liked the idea that there may hve been a deliniation between Númenórean citizens and those who were not, somewhat similar to the way citizenship worked in ancient Athens or Rome. I liked the idea that illegtimate daughers born to the noble class would find their way into this profession. In a way it would almost be like vengeance for being denied their birthrights.

I shall never forget those days, who I am, where I came from, and the person I am made to be now. I was conceived the same way as all children in this world are, but I was born in a land that I would never be a citizen of. You see, when a King makes laws, there are always those who shall slip through the cracks. In this case, the new proclamations created some of the most powerful women in Númenor's history.

No, we were not Queens, Princesses, or ladies of gentle birth. We were called the _Quintilórë_ by the men who adored our every glance, every smile, or the way each finger was poised in such a manner to convey nothing but calculated grace. To others we were courtesans, girls who were neither orphans nor daughters with homes to belong to. To those who despised our presence, namely virtuous wives of wealthy nobles, we were expensive whores, painted harlots, and thieves. They both feared, and envied, the power we held in more ways than what could be seen by eyes alone.

Our profession is one of the oldest in this world. But our specific history began to flourish during the reign of Ar-Sakalthôr.  Before then, marriages were easily made between two consenting families. But during Ar-Sakalthôr's rule, new laws were put into place to try and regulate the marriages of the Faithful.  Couples now had to seek edicts from court appointed justices. Depending on the disposition of the justice, a couple could be denied their right to a legal marriage. If a couple chose to marry without the blessing of the King's courts they risked their offspring's right to citizenship. Under the rule of Ar-Gimilzôr the laws grew even more stringent. Through his edicts, a non citizen could not legally wed, own property, and in certain cases, non citizens were denied the right to a fair trial.  Many innocents were harmed in the tyrant's attempt to weed out the Faithful. During his reign the number of orphans increased to alarming numbers. The fortunate few found their ways to the Quintilórë houses.

Our numbers waned during the reign of Tar-Palantir. The Quintilórë houses were closed and many daughters were reunited with their rightful families. It was a move that made powerful allies and enemies alike for the repentant King. Unfortunately for me I was not born in those days.

The rise of Ar-Pharazôn to the throne brought forth the golden days for my trade. The old edicts returned with a vengeance and unwed mothers either sought hiding or Blue Cohosh to relieve them of their unwanted burdens. My parents chose to flee to Nindamos, the small Númenórean fishing village where I was born. My father told me the story of the night I entered the world more times than I could count. He claimed the moon was fuller and brighter within the sky that night than any other he could recall and that is why they named me Isilmírë.

But alas, I do not believe he intended the fate that found me. He would not be able to recognize his daughter in her fine clothes or hair and skin reddened with Henna. Although my history is so entwined in that which shall be written in records, I know better than to believe any shall give a nod to Nilûphel, an abandoned child, a Quintilórë who survived extinction, the prodigal daughter of a man who would become more than any of us knew. There were so many things none of us anticipated.


	2. A Jewel from the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Independence1776 and Lilith for their critiques and beta help with this chapter. Thank you to Pandemonium for her continued encouragement and idea bouncing for this story. Also many thanks to SurgicalSteel for help wih the medical research.

The night was unkind and sleep evaded Isildur's grasp. The summer breeze coming through the window offered little comfort. Isildur rolled over onto his back with a heavy sigh. He couldn't be certain if it was the heat or his restlessness that kept him awake. The sound of waves seldom failed to sooth him into sleep. But this night his thoughts returned to his betrothed no matter how many times he tried to clear his mind.

For the past ten years the majority of their conversations took place in short letters. They met in secret, but their time together was always too brief. The two of them were so close to one another in both the physical and emotional sense. Isildur could see Tindalómë's dwelling from his window, yet they were not permitted a moment alone, at least where others could see them and suspect their bond. Isildur served as an apprentice to Tindalómë's father, learning the trade of a merchant and mariner now that his household had been exiled to Rómenna. They saw one another in passing at her father's storehouse or on the quays, but it didn't feel anywhere near enough.

Due to the edict of Ar-Pharazon, Isildur and Tindalómë kept their betrothal a closely guarded secret among their families. All marriages had to invoke the name of Morgoth instead of The One, something neither was willing to do. The same decree made it illegal for unwed couples to copulate or live within the same home. Of course the law was rarely enforced among those who seemed to carry the King's favor, many of whom still frequented the masked brothels. Instead it was used to further purge the Faithful from this land. It became uncertain whether Isildur and his lady would ever wed as the days darkened and chaos spread to all five corners of Númenor.

Isildur sat up in his bed, his eyes turning to the untouched pillows that rested beside his own. He could almost picture Tindalómë's raven hair spread out upon the white fabric or the way the thin sheet would barely conceal her form from his view. The room grew warmer while he tried to imagine what it would be like to have her naked body so close to his own. Neither of them would likely get any decent amount of sleep if it was so, but Isildur would gladly welcome it. He couldn't sleep anyways and he might as well have the distraction Tindalómë would provide.

The wood underneath the soles of his bare feet felt cool compared to the air within the room. It creaked slightly with each step Isildur took towards the window. The moonlight bathed the rooftops in soft illumination while the scent of saltwater wafted up from the bay. Isildur recalled Tindalómë telling her father she would tend to the account books until the task was finished. Time was of essence and shipment would soon be required in Nindamos. It would be far quicker to send the goods via water than land. But cargo required extra tasks and provisions, especially since the ships now had to be inspected before departing from the quays or not be permitted to return to shore in Rómenna.

Isildur wondered if his betrothed still worked at her father's storehouse even at this hour. She had given Isildur a smile after she informed her father of her decision to stay after hours and he dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be inclined to wait for him there.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

The walk to the storehouse seemed longer than ever before. Finally the heavy door facing the quays came into view. Light filtered through the cracks in the wooden surface, much to Isildur's relief and joy. He turned to walk towards one of the windows to confirm the presence of the one within the building.

Tindalómë sat with her elbows upon the heavy wooden desk. The large account books sat open in front of her, but even from Isildur's vantage point he could see her attention rested elsewhere. Her face appeared drawn and pale in the glow provided by the lamp. Isildur saw her body jerk sharply when his fingers tapped upon the glass to alert her of his presence. He could not help but notice Tindalómë no longer wore the outer gown or culottes from earlier in the day.  Isildur's heart skipped a beat to see the flash of bare legs as his betrothed made her way across the room.

The sharp scrape of old locks and the squeak of rusty hinges sounded just before the door opened and Isildur darted inside. His foot gave the door a sharp kick closed while his arms wrapped tightly around his betrothed.  Their lips collided in a passionate tangle.

"I have waited weeks for that," Isildur murmured against Tindalómë's cheek once he pulled back from the fervent kiss. The scent of honeysuckle and the sea lingered in her hair, much to Isildur's delight. His face burrowed deep into her dark waves, breathing in the familiar and comforting smells. But something about her body felt different, yet Isildur could not pinpoint exactly what had changed.

"I am leaving for Nindamos, along with the ships. I shall be gone for many months." A hint of anxiety could be heard in Tindalómë's voice, almost as if she was afraid of what Isildur would say in response. Usually she seemed so happy to see him, to have these private moments together.

Isildur's arms released Tindalómë's body, his hands ghosting along her arms as he took a step back. Even in the dim lighting Isildur could see how pale his beloved's face looked. Dark crescents shadowed the skin underneath her normally bright eyes.

"I thought your father had plans to send someone else?" Isildur questioned as he reached up a hand to try and brush the hair back from Tindalómë's face only to have her move out of his reach.

"He does, and he is sending me as well." The apprehension could be heard plainly in Tindalómë's voice. Her eyes avoided Isildur's while she spoke. "I have much I must get done this night."

"You wish for me to leave then?" Isildur spoke his question in a manner that made it more of a statement. His feet stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Tindalómë. Her body visibly tensed, sending Isildur into an even greater state of confusion than before. Clearly something was out of place; Isildur could feel it without having to ask. Tindalómë's behavior towards him began to change noticeably over the past few months. Her normal good cheer had given way to an almost emotional instability that stood out as rather odd to many besides Isildur.  Even Anárion inquired privately if things had gone awry between Isildur and his betrothed.

Isildur reached out to rest both of his palms upon Tindalómë's shoulders, hoping that somehow his tough would breach the gap that stood in their recent communication. "I know that something bothers you terribly. I am afraid I am unused to being shut out by you in this manner. It is not like either of us to hide from each other in this way."

"I can't," Tindalómë whispered before sniffling softly. "I am not supposed to tell you."

"You're not supposed to tell me what?" Isildur's heart beat a bit faster to hear the despair in his beloved's voice. His hands shifted Tindalómë's body, forcing her to face him. Tears welled up in Tindalómë's eyes while she began to speak.

"I am carrying your child. My mother discovered it before I even knew for sure that it was so. She feared for my safety and bid me not to tell you. She sent me to a woman who gave me a parcel of Birthwort and dried Laminaria. The woman told me what I must do with them, but I could not bring myself to do it. I threw the herbs into the bay. They jail women who are caught in possession of those types of medicines. I knew if any of the King's patrol found the package on me I feared they would interrogate me about my involvement with you, and I couldn't allow that. I told my mother that the woman had helped to rid my body of the child and she need not worry for me. Now I have no other choice but to go to Nindamos. My burden is already beginning to show and I must leave as soon as possible. "

The room began to spin and Isildur felt his knees grow weak. Somehow he managed not to do much more than stumble backwards a couple steps. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was afraid," Tindalómë stammered. "I have seen women arrested in the streets by the King's watch only to never be seen again. I have heard whispers that men from the patrol observe you and your brother closely, searching for evidence, waiting to strike. I thought I could protect you as well as our child by keeping it a secret."

Isildur took a few tentative steps forward. Fear tossed his insides about even though he grappled furiously for a shred of courage. He was well aware his arms shook as they reached out to enfold around Tindalómë's body. "Well, it would appear that I am coming with you to Nindamos."

"But my father needs you here," Isildur could feel Tindalómë's body tremble every bit as much as his arms while she spoke. "Other than me, he trusts you the most."

"Don't fret over that," Isildur murmured, his hands pulled Tindalómë even closer. "Anárion can work in my steed. Your father trusts him also, and he would be of far better use to him than me if I stayed behind. I would go mad with worry for you. Besides, I know a healer who dwells in Nindamos, friendly to the Faithful. Saptheth has helped others in our situation. My father has mentioned her on more than a few occasions. Our family sends her funds to help pay for her supplies. She shall help us, I am sure of it."

Tindalómë's face blanched as she looked up to meet Isildur's eyes. "You would have me get rid of our child also?"

"No!" Isildur's voice came forth more sharply than he meant it to. "No, don't even let such a thing enter your thoughts again. No matter what the laws of this land say, our child is a blessing. We both knew despite the precautions we took that there was still a chance."

Isildur pulled back a step from his betrothed to place one of his hands upon Tindalómë's abdomen. He felt certain the palm shook as he felt the firm rounded shape of her belly. His thoughts initially cursed his inability to hold back his passion for the past years. No matter what the laws said, or their families deemed to be prudent, Isildur's body would not listen and it still responded to the sight of his betrothed, the sound of her voice, or a simple touch of her hand.  Tindalómë did not seem to fare much better. The lustful thoughts were made plain in the brief glances they shared. She had been the one to initiate their brief, ardent, encounters after locking them in one of the storerooms. It would seem the denial of their lawful union only served to make both of them take greater risks in order to be together. The forced separation served to fan their ardor into a wildfire that was best to flee from than attempt to fight.

Both of them knew the risks they took. They were young and in good health. Despite their precautions, Isildur knew in the back of his mind what the inevitable would be with all the factors put into play. But even so, Isildur's head swam in a muddle of thoughts and feelings. All at once he feared this new responsibility, for Tindalómë's safety, and the health of their child, yet he also felt a measure of joy and eagerness to meet the being he and his beloved created.

Isildur's eyes shifted upwards to meet Tindalómë's. Somehow she must have sensed the swarm of thoughts taking place in his mind because her arms slipped around his waist to bring her body closer. Isildur could do nothing but reciprocate the motion, glad that even if the future seemed uncertain, at least they were in it together.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The scent of marsh gas and fish permeated Isildur's nostrils while he and Tindalómë made their way from the ship.  A few of the rustic inhabitants standing upon the pier gave a few glances to the large vessel docked at the harbor. It would appear that they were unused to the sight of the grand ships belonging to the mariners. Isildur could feel their eyes fall upon him and Tindalómë's heavily cloaked form. Even so, Isildur guided Tindalómë from the pier. The deckhands would be unable to unload the cargo until the inspector gave them clearance. Because merchant vessels rarely came to Nindamos with imported goods it could be a few days before the inspection even began.

It wasn't difficult to hire a horse and cart to take Isildur and his betrothed to Saptheth's dwelling upon the edges of the fishing village. Multiple drivers lingered about the harbor, each one eager for the business from newcomers arriving by ships.  It would seem if one did not fish, one drove a carriage.

The cart stopped near a fence and Isildur jumped from his seat to pay the driver before helping Tindalómë from the bench. A woman wearing a turban stood at the junction where a walkway met the road, watching the new arrivals as the cart pulled away.

"How may I be of assistance?" The woman called out, not moving from the place where she stood.

"We seek the lady, Saptheth," Isildur spoke, placing a hand on Tindalómë's back for reassurance. "My father, Elendil, is a friend, and we require her aid."

The woman's demeanor softened slowly at the mention of Elendil.  She took a few steps backwards and turned her heel, motioning for Isildur and Tindalómë to follow her. A simple cottage lay at the end of the walkway, its wooden shutters aged by the salty air.

"You know the tale of the marsh lights?" The woman stopped on the steps and turned around to look at Isildur, her pale blue eyes seemed to reach into the deepest places of his unconscious mind, searching for something.

"Aye, they are said to be the tears of Varda fallen for Númenor." Isildur met the woman's gaze while he spoke his answer. It was common practice for the faithful to share poetry and folklore as a code to weed out potential spies.

The woman's limbs relaxed and she offered Isildur and his lady a warm smile. "Come inside, quickly."

The smell of herbs and incense filled Isildur's nostrils as soon as he stepped inside the cottage after the two women. Jars lined a set of shelves in an organized manner along with an assortment of rather ancient looking books.  His eyes flicked to Tindalómë when she sat in the chair Saptheth offered to her.

"My lady, you seem very pale. Are you ill?" Saptheth murmured out of concern.

"No," Tindalómë shook her head and lifted the heavy cloak away from her stomach, fully revealing her pregnancy.  It would appear that the child within grew rapidly in the month that passed between now and when Isildur first learned of its presence. Now no one could deny the significance of the prominent rounded shape of Tindalómë's belly. "My condition is the reason why we have come. My husband, Isildur, and I need your help. There is no true safe haven in Rómenna for me to birth my child without the King's men discovering."

"Our families believe we come to Nindamos for business alone, "Isildur chimed in. "My father says you are one of the Elf Friends' greatest allies. I have brought supplies and coin to help aid your cause."

Saptheth laughed softly, her voice carrying an ancient, musical, quality to I that made Isildur raise a brow. "My lord, I am far more than a mere Elf Friend."  The woman lifted the turban from her head, revealing the pointed tips of her ears.

"How," Isildur gasped. He had never before heard of an Elf dwelling in Númenor, much less seen one with his own eyes.

"My parents came here many years ago, "Saptheth murmured the sadness more than apparent in her tone. "They were murdered before they had a chance to escape. Your family helped me to hide. During the reign of Tar-Palantir I was given a chance to sail west. But I felt that I belonged here, and if there was anywhere else that required my skills in healing, this was where I would be needed most."

"But what of your own life?" Isildur asked as he moved to stand behind Tindalómë and placed his hands upon her shoulders. "You would be at peace in the Undying Lands."

"And how much peace do you think I would find there, knowing that so many lives would be lost, including that of your wife and the child she carries in her womb?"

Isildur's eyes turned down to look at the top of Tindalómë's head, Saptheth's words striking him to the very core of his heart. Indeed he was unsure to whom they would have turned had he not known of Saptheth's work. He didn't like to think of what could have happened.

"Let us put such dark thoughts behind us," Saptheth spoke as she put a few stoneware bowls upon the table. "Both of you have come a long way and must rest. My dwelling is safe and humble, but I willingly share what I have."

"It is more than enough," Tindalómë spoke up while reaching out to take the Elf's hand. "Thank you."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

The remaining months of Tindalómë's pregnancy passed quickly. At least it felt that way to Isildur despite how much his lady complained that she was ready for the child to be born. The last months were the most difficult for Tindalómë, especially as the child continued to grow. The false contractions had been the thing that unsettled Isildur the most. In time he lost track of the times Tindalómë woke him, proclaiming it was time only for the pains to disappear an hour or so later. She would return to bed to sleep blissfully while Isildur's pulse continued to race, leaving him wide eyed and alert.

Saptheth warned him that the pains were Tindalómë's body practicing for the day when they would be used to bring forth the child. Of course the day came when the pain did not fade away and Isildur felt his heart racing more than ever. Saptheth tried to calm him by telling him that it would take hours before the child made its appearance. But neither of them expected it to take nearly an entire day. Eventually Saptheth gave Tindalómë some herbs to help strengthen the contractions. Watching Tindalómë go through the pain was the worst part. It felt like forever before Saptheth declared it was time for Isildur to help her move Tindalómë to the birthing stool that had been placed within the room. Isildur had always tried to keep his gaze away from the thing. To him it looked more like some strange torture device than a mere piece of furniture. But now Isildur felt even more afraid of it as the time to put it to use was upon them. He focused his attention instead upon supporting Tindalómë's back and doing what he could to try and comfort her.

Isildur grimaced at the agonizing sound that tore through him. Tindalómë's head dropped backwards onto his shoulder, her hair damp with sweat. He reached out to dab at the layer of moisture upon her face only to have her slap his arm away. Just as soon as the pain ended, another wave seemed to return. Isildur could feel Tindalómë tense her body before releasing a soft groan.

"Don't fight the pain," the Saptheth soothed. "Just breathe through it."

"I can't!" Tindalómë snapped sharply, causing Isildur to blink in surprise. He had never heard Tindalómë speak in such an angry tone without provocation. The sight of tears flowing down her cheeks caught Isildur off guard. He had become so accustomed to her strong, unyielding nature. But somehow seeing her in such a disheveled state only served to make shake him from his own pillar of strength.

"No more, please, "Tindalómë pleaded among soft sobs. "I can't do this."

"But you are doing this," Isildur murmured in her ear while his hands gently massaged her back before resting upon her forearms. "We're doing this together, just like we planned, and I'm not going anywhere."

Tindalómë's body shook before it collapsed against Isildur's chest. The sound of her breathing slowed, indicating the pains had finally abated at least for the moment.

"Rest for a little while, you've more than earned it." Saptheth looked up at the young couple with a warm smile. Isildur felt his heart thud faster once the healer positioned herself between Tindalómë's legs. After months of anxiousness and anticipation their child would be here, and soon. Fear mingled with excitement within Isildur's heart. He had done all he could to care for his betrothed and their unborn child, but was it enough? He wondered if he would be a good father knowing that the road ahead of them would be far from easy, especially in their current situation.

The sudden strong grip from Tindalómë's hand upon Isildur's palm ripped him from his thoughts. The next minutes passed in a blur of activity that made Isildur's knees feel weak. Tindalómë released a sharp cry that tore deep into his soul. The tears disappeared from her eyes as an almost unearthly power and strength seemed to come over her. Isildur watched in awe, and even bit of shock, as Tindalómë gritted her teeth and used every ounce of her physical power to bring the child forth. After a period of time that felt like an eternity, the tiny, wet, creature left Tindalómë's body along with a rush of fluid. For a moment Isildur feared what would transpire next. Surely such a wriggly little thing could not actually be alive, especially not after the way it had to be expelled. Nothing could possibly live through the ordeal that had lasted well over a day and night.

"_Please live, breathe._" Isildur thought frantically while he watched Saptheth clear the babe's nose and mouth.

But much to Isildur's surprise the creature flailed its arms slightly. He held his breath as the small being released a soft squawk, its eyes opening wide as it did the most incredible thing Isildur had ever witnessed another human being do; breathe for the first time on its own.

"You have a daughter," Saptheth announced proudly while the child's squawks and mews turned into a robust cry. Isildur's head reeled as he watched the woman place the baby onto Tindalómë's chest where it continued to squall with a healthy voice.

"Be careful," Isildur stammered before he had a chance to stop the words. "She's so tiny...And purple...."

"Don't you mean perfect?" Tindalómë teased gently with happy tears in her eyes. Isildur nodded as he tried to swallow the lump that rose to his throat. Despite his best efforts the tears came, released by the overwhelming emotions that flooded his being while he watched the infant flounder against her mother's breast. Tindalómë reached up with one hand to gently guide their daughter's mouth to one of her bared nipples.  A content smile upturned the corners of Tindalómë's lips once the babe latched on and suckled readily.

Isildur's breath left him. Before him lay a mystery that was now clearly revealed, and yet one he would never fully grasp or understand. Tindalómë had been his friend and companion, a woman who occasionally raised his indignation, but challenged his mind. She became his lover, sharing with him the most intimate and ancient dance a man and woman could play a part. At the height of their most passionate moments, Isildur felt as if a small part of him had died, and yet Tindalómë had taken his essence and created a life from it, a small being that was not only a part of the two of them and yet something entirely new.

For a split second Isildur was envious of the power and magic Tindalómë possessed. She reached out to wipe away some of the fallen tears from the sides of his face.

"Thank you for giving me such a perfect creation," Tindalómë murmured. An overwhelming joy flooded her soft gray blue eyes. Yes, he had been a part of this great mystery too. Isildur reached out to caress the side of Tindalómë's face and kissed her tenderly.

"No, it is I who should be thanking you." Isildur looked down at their daughter who now lay content in her mother's arms, her eyes filled with ethereal wonder and knowing. By now the purple pigmentation of the infant's skin had shifted to pink, her head crowned with dark hair that was still damp from being inside the womb. He bent to lightly brush his lips against the soft skin of his child's brow. Once more the tears came and Tindalómë gently guided Isildur's head to her shoulder where he wept freely.

 

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"She is so small," Isildur breathed while he watched Tindalómë gently bathe their daughter, holding her just above the surface. His hands reached out slowly. "May I?"

"Of course," Tindalómë murmured as she placed the infant in Isildur's waiting hands. "You must hold her so that the remainder of the cord doesn't get immersed. That is what Saptheth instructed."

Isildur nodded while he held his daughter gingerly, still afraid he would break her if he held her too firmly. He could feel a smile upturn the corners of his lips when the babe cooed and gurgled. Isildur listened carefully to Tindalómë's instructions on how to properly clean the child, of course, Isildur managed to get more of the bath water on himself than their daughter. Before long Tindalómë held out a soft towel and together they carefully wrapped their little one into its warmth.

Isildur cradled his child close, breathing in the scent of her skin while he smoothed the damp dark hair from her face.

"She still needs a name," Tindalómë whispered as she came to look past her betrothed's shoulder. "I thought Isilmírë suited her."

"Aye," Isildur turned his head to the side to place a kiss upon Tindalómë's cheek. "Isilmírë it shall be then."

Tindalómë rested the side of her head against Isildur's forearm and released a soft sigh. A long silence ensued before she spoke up in a hushed whisper. "How could any of this be wrong?"

"I don't know," Isildur spoke grimly in return. He lifted the arm Tindalómë rested her head upon and draped it around her shoulder. "I don't wish to leave Nindamos, but in time we must. We can't risk them finding out, finding Isilmírë."

"We could take her back with us," Tindalómë suggested. "Her family is in Rómenna. It's where she belongs. I know my mother would forgive me for my dishonesty once she saw our child. In time she would understand."

Isildur shook his head and walked towards the simple cradle Isildur built soon after they arrived in Nindamos. He carefully lowered his newborn daughter into it, making certain to tuck the blankets around her. "You know as well as I that we cannot hide Isilmírë from the King's inspectors. To stow away goods is one thing, but a child would be next to impossible to conceal. You know that it could be days before we are allowed to unload the ship."

"But we cannot leave her behind!" Tindalómë looked around the room frantically before sinking into a chair, rubbing her face with her hands. Isildur felt every bit as panicked but was determined to keep his emotions checked, at least for his betrothed's sake. Her moods were in an upheaval ever since the day Isilmírë arrived, something Saptheth warned him to expect. One moment Tindalómë was all smiles and the vision of a content women embracing motherhood. At other times she broke into tears without warning. Even in that very moment Isildur could see the tears brim in his beloved's eyes. Isildur stepped towards Tindalómë until he stood in front of her and knelt at her feet.

"I would not abandon our child, nor am I asking that of you," Isildur soothed as he reached out a hand to brush away the tears sliding down her cheeks. "There is still plenty of time for us to decide what is best to do for Isilmírë. I would no sooner see her come to harm than I would allow danger to come your way. But for now, we shouldn't allow our worries for the future to consume this time we have now as a family."

Isildur drew his betrothed close in an attempt to calm her and to settle his own dark thoughts, "Never fear, we shall find a way to make this work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue Cohosh and Laminaria were historically used to cause miscarriage. Along ithe regulated marriage, in my verse, such medicines were illegal to sell and possess.


	3. The Marsh Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmírë is about eight years of age and lives a comfortabe life with her parents in Nindamos, at least until her life is forever changed by a single night's horrific events.

"Isilmírë!"

The sharp call of her father's voice carried over the crash of the waves. But even so, Isilmírë's sandaled feet leapt through the soft sand with the nimbleness of one accustomed to fighting the sinking sensation of the unsteady surface. Her hands reached up to pull the linen tie from her dark brown hair, allowing it to fall freely past her shoulders. Isilmírë could see the unbroken shells littering the wet sand where the waves licked and receded. She bent to snatch up the coveted objects. The pristine sand dollars and shells glimmered white in the midday sun.

"Isilmírë, you are supposed to stay by my side." Isilmírë looked up to see her father come to a stop nearby, his bare chest heaving as he sucked in one heavy breath after another, his hands balancing on his knees. The day was warm and Isildur wore nothing save the belted linen kilts many of the fishermen wore during the summer. The sun had bronzed his skin from the hours he spent outdoors.

"Then you should have kept up with me," Isilmírë spoke with a wide smile as she scooped a shell into the shoulder bag she carried. "These shells are perfect, and I had to get to them before the waves broke them or they washed out to sea like the last time."

Isildur chuckled and shook his head. "You truly are your mother's child." He knelt down and helped his daughter brush the sand from the shells. "Now that you have your treasures, we should return home."

"Look at this one, father," Isilmírë cried out as she held up shiny conch. "Teach me how to play it like you did that one time."

"And there is a reason I only played it that one time." Isildur stood to his feet before helping Isilmírë up. "Don't you remember what happened? Your mother was furious with me."

Isilmírë giggled, remembering her glee over the enormous sound her father managed to bring forth from the shell they found earlier that day. Her sides had hurt from laughing so hard over the ridiculous squawks and squeaks Isildur made while blowing into the conch. It seemed he would never manage to make the trumpeting call the fisherman used to signal to one another. But Isildur's final attempt brought forth a roar from the natural instrument that shook the tile floor and rattled the windows. Isilmírë was quite pleased with the large sound, but her mother seemed less than thrilled. Tindalómë raced into the room and snatched the shell from Isildur's hands and scolded him heartily for teaching their daughter bad habits before shooing both father and daughter from the house for the rest of the afternoon.

"Well, she wasn't as angry at you that time as she was when I broke my arm," Isilmírë recalled as she walked hand in hand with her father from the beach.

"Now that time I wasn't at fault," Isildur retorted gently. "After all, I had told you not to go onto the rocks off the shoreline. I specifically warned you that they were dangerous. Thank goodness Saptheth was around to come to your aid. You frightened us a great deal that day."

The two walked on and turned a corner before Isilmírë spoke up. "I'm sorry, Attô. But you know I simply cannot resist the urge to explore them closer."

"I know," Isildur murmured and draped his arm around Isilmírë's shoulders before pulling her against his side. "You have strong mariner blood flowing within your veins from both your mother and I. It is only natural for you to feel such a strong need to explore and traverse into the unknown. I do not doubt you shall become a great sea captain one day. But you must abide by the rules your mother and I put in place. They are there for a reason, namely to keep you safe from harm."

"But someday I shall be old enough to no longer need rules, right?" Isilmírë questioned while turning her chin up to look at the side of Isildur's face.

Isildur shook his head, "That is not so, my dear Isilmírë. It is true that one day you shall be a grown woman, and far more quickly than I would like. But it is my hope that you would carry the lessons your mother and I teach you close to your heart, and that you would see them not as restrictions, but wisdom to help guide you to the right choices in the difficulties you shall face in life."

Isilmírë watched the expression on her father's face change. For a moment he looked as if he were about to weep. But just as soon as the sadness came to Isildur's face it fled once their home came in sight. Tindalómë stood at the end of the walkway waiting for them. The anxiousness in her posture seemed to give way to relief, and even joy, once she spotted Isildur and Isilmírë walking towards her.

"I was beginning to worry," Tindalómë scolded gently before pressing a kiss to her daughter's brow. Isilmírë could not help but roll her eyes slightly. Her mother always said that whenever she had been gone from the house for even an hour. How much trouble did Tindalómë really expect her to get into in a single afternoon?

Isilmírë lifted the shoulder bag from her body after running inside and placed it next to her sandals in the entryway. She could see Saptheth seated at the table in the kitchen. The woman looked up from the mortar and pestle and gave Isilmírë a smile.

"Well, there you are, little one," Saptheth called out in that musical tone she always spoke with. "And what sort of mischief did you get up to today?"

Isilmírë giggled, hearing the obvious teasing in the woman's tone and reached out to embrace Saptheth. "I found shells. They weren't broken this time. Wait, I wanted to show Naneth," the girl clamored as she ran from the room to fetch her bag. Isilmírë stopped short once she caught sight of her parents kissing in their bedroom just before her father closed the door. She could not withhold a scowl of disapproval while she stalked back into the kitchen with her bag in tow.

"They're kissing in their room again," Isilmírë grumbled. "And father closed the door on me. It's nowhere time to retire. We have yet to make the evening meal!"

"Ah," Saptheth murmured sympathetically. "It's best for us to let them have their privacy for a little while. Besides, I want to see these shells you collected today."

"But I wanted to show mother," Isilmírë whined even though she knew she would receive a sharp reprimand from her parents if they happened to hear her take that tone. Both of them said she was too old to pout in such a manner, but what else was she supposed to do to vent her frustration? "I found some I especially wanted to give to her."

"And you shall get your chance," Saptheth soothed after standing from her seat. "What if we go outdoors to wash them for her? Think of it as time to make them even more perfect for your mother than they already are."

Isilmírë managed a small smile and followed Saptheth to the small garden outside. It was not every day that she had Saptheth's undivided attention, and she may as well take advantage of it. She followed the Elf to the marble fountain hat collected rainwater for use in the garden. Isilmírë watched as Saptheth lowered a small bucket into the fountain before placing it on the ground and reaching into Isilmírë's shoulder bag.

"Do you think they're jumping on the bed again?" Isilmírë asked. She blinked at the smile that came to Saptheth's face. Surely the Elf did not approve of her parents doing such a juvenile thing. Of course it might be another one of those double standards for adults. Whenever Isilmírë jumped on her bed she would be scolded, but then her parents would jump on their bed when they were supposed to be asleep and sometimes during the day for hours at a time. Isilmírë remembered how bright crimson her father's face turned when she asked him why it was he and her mother could jump on their bed all they wished.

"I do not know," Saptheth murmured after releasing a soft laugh."We should not worry about what they are doing behind closed doors. Besides, I will need your help preparing the evening meal. Your mother told me now that you are eight years of age it is time for you to begin to take on some responsibility in that task."

Isilmírë could feel how large her smile grew while her heart soared. She had been asking Tindalómë when she could start helping with the cooking. Before now she had been too young to go near the stove fire. At last the coveted privilege was being extended to her. The excitement felt almost overwhelming as Isilmírë placed down the shell she held and embraced Saptheth as tightly as she dared.

"I promise I shall do everything you ask! I am finally going to get to help!"

Before long the last of the shells Isilmírë's bag were cleaned and left outside to air dry. The girl was certain a smile remained plastered upon her face while Saptheth gently explained the process of baking flatbread. Isilmírë's eyes watched with rapt wonder to see strips of fish sizzle in the iron skillet and turn white. The scent of herbs and fresh bread filled the air by the time Isildur and Tindalómë emerged from their room. Isilmírë felt herself beam with pride while her father came to inspect the final preparations of the meal, just as he always did every evening, and nod in approval. This time Isilmírë did not pull away when her mother pulled her into an embrace and kissed her brow.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Isilmírë looked at both of her parents while they tried to explain the situation. Despite the gentleness they used in trying to sooth her. "But why must you go to Rómenna?"

Isildur flicked his gaze to Tindalómë before swallowing and looking back at Isilmírë. "We have to return for business again. We should only be gone for a month."

"You said that the last time, and you were gone for three!" Isilmírë could feel the tears of disappointment well up in her eyes despite how hard she tried to hold them back. She knew she was too old to fuss and carry on so, but she hated nothing more than the long voyages from home her parents were forced to take. They were always gone longer than they promised and the time felt like it would stretch on forever. Sometimes Isilmírë was even afraid her parents would never return.

Tindalómë reached for her but Isilmírë's instincts seemed to take over. She leapt from her seat and ran out of the house. She could hear her father calling out her name amidst the symphony of evening insects and birds. Mist had already rolled in before the sun set that night, hiding the ground from sight. A light flickered and distance, hovering over the shallow water. The closer Isilmírë drew towards it, the further away it seemed, almost as if it danced just out of her reach. Isilmírë became so mesmerized by the floating light that she failed to notice her father catch up with her and stand by her side. Isilmírë expected him to scold her. Instead he simply draped an arm over her shoulder, watching the lights with her while they flickered above the water's surface.

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

At last the dreaded day came. Isilmírë watched her father load the last of the trunks onto the cart. Her feet remained rooted in the hopes that if she remained still time would also stop. Every time her parents went on another voyage they left behind worry and emptiness. They never returned when they said they would. Weeks often turned into months. Isilmírë still clearly remembered the times she wept in Saptheth's arms, fearing she would never see her mother and father again. The weeks that easily turned into months felt like an eternity still.

But even worse was that feeling of not entirely belonging. There were so many times Isilmírë felt like she did not entirely know the two who gave her life. So many times it seemed like her parents hid things. Maybe it was the whispered arguments Isilmírë sometimes overheard in the middle of the night. Or it might have been in the way her mother and father suddenly changed the subject at times or they seemed uncomfortable when certain topics came up. Many of the village children had aunts and uncles, grandparents, even brothers and sisters. Isilmírë often wondered why she had none of these in her family.

Even now tears brimmed in her mother's eyes as she reached out to embrace Isilmírë."Please don't look so sad. My heart already misses you terribly."

Isilmírë hugged her mother tighter and pressed a few extra kisses to her cheeks in the hopes that it would be enough to sway her into staying. She wanted to scream in protest when Tindalómë released her grip and walked towards the cart. Isilmírë saw the restrained moisture pool in her mother's eyes just before she turned her back towards her. If it pained her so much then why did she go?

Confusion swarmed through Isilmírë's mind while she watched her father help her mother onto the bench inside the cart. Tears stung her lower lids once she felt Saptheth touch her back. She knew her touch without needing to look. The Elf always tried to comfort Isilmírë by rubbing loose circles into her back. But this time it only seemed to bring her emotions to the forefront. Isilmírë swallowed at the lump in her throat as her father walked towards her and knelt in front of her. A painful expression filled his gray eyes while he reached out to wipe the newly fallen tears from Isilmírë's face.

_"_Please don't go,_ father_," Isilmírë begged in a trembling whisper. "I don't want you or mother to leave me."

Isildur shushed her gently and pulled her into his arms. Isilmírë felt the tears come and she wept into her father's woolen cloak. Her hands clung to his clothing, clinging to him for dear life. If she held tightly enough to him surely he would not be able to leave. But once more goodbyes came and went too swiftly and Isildur released a ragged sigh. "Your mother and I love you so very much. And I promise you that I shall think of you every single day until your mother and I return home."

Panic began to set in as her father pried Isilmírë's fingers from his clothing. He pressed a parting kiss upon her brow before walking back to the cart. While Isildur leapt into the vehicle and took the reins Isilmírë's heart sank. They were leaving and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Saptheth resumed the lazy circles upon Isilmírë's back but not even her comfort could stop the overwhelming sense of helplessness and desperation that filled Isilmírë's being as she watched the cart jerk into motion.

Without giving it another thought Isilmírë broke into a run after the vehicle. Her hands balled into fists and propelled her body forward. If she managed to catch up with the cart and jump in her parents would have no choice but to take her with them. The thought drove Isilmírë's feet faster until her lungs burned from the strain. Even with all her effort her goal seemed just out of her reach. Once more anxiety took over.

"Father!" Isilmírë cried out after trying to catch her breath. "Wait! Please don't leave without me!"

The cart continued forward until it finally disappeared around a bend and out of Isilmírë's line of sight. A sob broke past her lips and Isilmírë crumpled to her knees in the road, unable to stop the shaking or flood of emotions. She was not even aware of Saptheth's presence until the Elf lifted her and cradled her body in her arms while she carried Isilmírë back to the house.

 

\--------------------------------------------

Isilmírë gripped the pillow against her face, afraid to look up even though she could hear the soothing murmur of Saptheth's voice. She could smell the scent of fresh flatbread and seasoned poultry. But not even the inviting scents of her supper could coax Isilmírë into eating.

"Come now, little one, surely you must be hungry." Saptheth's voice came forth in that familiar calm and melodic tone. Isilmírë wondered if the Elf was even capable of showing anger.  Isilmírë's face lifted slowly from the pillow and turned to look in Saptheth's eyes. "Where do they go for such a long time? Don't they love me?"

Saptheth's fingers brushed the dark brown hair away from Isilmírë's face while she sat upon the edge of the bed. "And what makes you believe they do not love you entirely?"

"Because they are always leaving and they never come back when they say they will," Isilmírë stammered. "It always seems there is something I cannot know, that is hidden from me."

Much to Isilmírë's surprise the air felt heavier now that she confessed the things that weighed upon her heart. Her Elvish guardian regarded her with an expression should could not read. Saptheth scooted closer to Isilmírë upon the bed before draping her arms around the girl. "Things are very complicated in this land these days, and because of that your parents have to make some decisions that are every bit as hard for them to bear as it is for you to endure their absence. Your mother and father were still very young when you were born but their love for you is no less. I was with them the moment you entered this world and even I could see that you completed them."

The Elf embraced Isilmírë tightly for a moment and dropped a kiss upon her cheek. "A day will come all too soon when you are grown and shall have a child of your own. I have faith that you shall love that little one in much the same way that your mother and father love you. You will want to protect your child and give her the best life possible. But this world is not always kind and you will surely have to make difficult decisions to do what is best for your young one. But I know you will let love guide you. That is what leads your mother and father."

Isilmírë managed a small smile as her thoughts turned to happy memories of her parents. Her mother taught her how to read and write and was able to bring to life bedtime stories that sent Isilmírë into a multitude of fantastical lands in her dreams. Her father had taught her how to barter, how to make the most of the silver coins he gave her for assisting with chores. Both of her parents filled her eager mind with so many wonderful things. But Isilmírë also treasured the times she swam with her mother and father in the sea, or slept between them when a fierce storm battered rain and thunder upon the roof of their house.

"Now come and eat your evening meal," Saptheth prodded gently. "It would not do for you to be naught but skin and bone when your mother and father return."

Isilmírë allowed herself a small giggle. "And when I am finished may we read more chapters from the book mother gave me?"

 "Of course," Saptheth smiled as she placed the plate of food in Isilmírë's hands. "I am still humored by the literature your mother gives you. But I am pleased she wishes for you to be so thoroughly educated."

Isilmírë grinned, placing the plate upon the bedside table so that she could reach for the book of Númenórean royal history. "I don't care what it means. I just like the books."

The two sat upon Isilmírë's bed, taking turns reading aloud from the large book. Isilmírë tried to imagine the people described in the words. To her the Kings and Queens of old seemed so noble and almost magical. Even the city where they dwelled sounded like a place out of her dreams. It felt too soon when Isilmírë's eyelids began to grow heavy and she felt inviting warmth of her blankets covering her body.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

A loud crash jolted Isilmírë violently from her sleep. It felt like the wind had been punched from her lungs with the force of the sound. Her body sat upright when angry voices came from the other side of the house. Isilmírë could hear men laughing followed by a sharp cry of pain. Fear radiated from Isilmírë's chest out into her limbs, causing them to shake. Saptheth's voice filtered down the hall, begging those who laughed to leave her be. A loud crack, like flesh hitting flesh, caused Isilmírë to jump.

"Where is the girl?" A deep male voice roared out. "We know there is a child that lives here."

"I don't know what you are speaking of," Saptheth stammered in a wobbly tone.  Isilmírë thought it sounded like she was crying. "No child lives here."

Isilmírë leapt from her bed and tossed the covers over the mattress in an attempt to hide her presence. Another sharp slap of flesh against flesh rang out as Isilmírë slipped into the shallow space underneath her bed. She clapped her hands over her ears in an attempt to drown out the sounds of cruel laughter and Saptheth's screams. Not even the images of her parents within her mind brought comfort. Oh how she wished they never left! Isilmírë felt the tears fall as she willed for some sort of rescue, for someone to hear the screams and stop this nightmare.

Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor, drawing closer. Isilmírë held her breath and covered her eyes. She had no idea who it was that currently invaded her home and she did not want to find out their identities either. Before Isilmírë had a chance to slip deeper into the shadows a hand slipped underneath the bed and grabbed her by the ankle. Isilmírë's screams filled the room as the grip tightened upon her and roughly dragged her body out from underneath the bed. More footsteps entered the room and another pair of hands tried to restrain Isilmírë's arms.

No matter how hard she fought, Isilmírë would never be a match against the two who lifted her body and dragged her from the room. Isilmírë caught sight of Saptheth's face made visible by the light of torches. A shiny dark substance covered one side of the Elf's face and her dress had been torn to the point where it barely covered her body. Two men held her aloft before tossing her into the back of an enclosure in a cart. The illumination from the flames cast a fiery glow upon the white trees emblazoned upon the leather armor worn by the men. Isilmírë gasped to recognize the royal emblem worn by those who caused such violence and terror. Surely it must not be real! The Kings and Queens Isilmírë read about would never allow such a thing. Would they?

The two men who restrained her tossed Isilmírë into another enclosed cart and slammed the gat closed behind her. Isilmírë grasped the bars and called out to Saptheth, desperate for some sort of reassurance that things were not as bad as they appeared. Why were these men putting them in separate carts? What had they possibly done that was so wrong? Or even worse, what would happen next?

"Burn it down," one of the men called out. Isilmírë recognized the voice s the one that questioned Saptheth so forcefully. She watched while the men carrying torches stepped forward and tossed them through the door. Some broke the windows before tossing their torches inside. Isilmírë began to cry while she watched flames leap out of the windows and doors, consuming the only home she had ever known.  Her hands reached out past the bars once she noticed the cart that held Saptheth pull away. The Elf also reached out towards her, calling out Isilmírë's name just before the vehicle disappeared into darkness. Isilmírë's tear-filled eyes turned to look at the house in time to see the flames burst through the roof. The sharp snap of reins caused her to jump in surprise and the cart jerked into motion, pulling her away from everything she held dear.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

A week elapsed before another cart rolled down the same roads that lead to home. Isildur breathed in the familiar air and closed his eyes momentarily to focus upon the sound of birds and insects in the marshes. He and Tindalómë had only been gone for a couple months this time, yet it felt like a year or more. He opened his and turned to his side to share a smile with his wife. Isildur could not wait to see their daughter or show her the wonderful things they brought back for her. There were a few fine gowns as well as new books from his grandfather's home back in Rómenna.

 In his cloak pocket Isildur carried a small box containing a pair of combs. Mother of pearl ships formed the decorative portions, small diamonds adorned its sails. Isilmírë had always asked for a pair of decorative combs, like the ones the fashionable ladies wore. Tindalómë deemed that their daughter was now old enough to receive her first pieces of jewelry and Isildur looked forward to giving their daughter such an important gift.

But all traces of hope and joy fled when the cart turned the corner and open sky greeted them instead of the sight of their house. Isildur urged the horses faster as his heart began to beat faster. Charred remains stretched upwards from the foundation like fingers reaching out for aid from the heavens. Nothing but a gutted skeleton remained where their house once stood. Isildur yanked hard upon the reigns, bringing the horses to a halt.

"Isilmírë, Saptheth," Tindalómë cried out before jumping down from the cart and running towards the ruins of their home. Isildur followed a few steps behind. Tindalómë's calls were answered with nothing but the sound of the birds and insects. Memories of Isilmírë's cries and pleading for Isildur to wait for her filled his mind, bringing tears to his eyes. He had never expected this yet guilt weighed upon him heavily.

Isildur noticed an object off to one side of the wreckage and ran towards it. Did he even dare to hope? Once he drew nearer he recognized the burned remains of one of Isilmírë's dolls. Isildur bent down to pick up the treasured object only to have it crumple into powdered ash that sifted through his fingers. A roar fueled by rage and despair tore past Isildur's lips, shattering the silence and causing a nearby group of birds to flee from their branches.

"We shouldn't have left." Tindalómë's voice waivered behind Isildur as tears continued to fill his own eyes and he buried his face in his hands.


End file.
